One Song Glory
by What About Today
Summary: Zexion's profession was in illusions. In lies. Demyx's was in uncovering hidden truths. In music. Zemyx gift-fic for QuarantineVirus, naturally. AU


Disclaimer: I own some words thrown together to imitate something kin to music… and a play that doesn't actually exist… But that's all. 8D

This is the promised gift-fic for **QuarantineVirus** because she was the 69th reviewer for my ongoing Zemyx fic, PoS. (and **yes**, I know I promised that would be the next stop, but I lied, okay? I know I'm late, and I'm sorry. It should be there before the weekend is done.)

She asked for, "Just a nice simple oneshot that manages cute and sexy simultaneously." Simple? Ha! Nothing in my life can _ever_ be simple! (and that is not your fault, dear. I still love you.) lols. Cute and sexy? Oh, I do hope so… You tell me! XD -is shot- I do hope Zexion and Namine aren't ooc... I have never read a Zexy like this one and I haven't played Re-COM, but I always think of him like this when I think AU... Namine was just fun, so I really don't care all that much if you guys think she's wrong (except you QV, because I wrote this for you. Your opinion matters). She always comes across to me as the one that has all the teachers snowed based on her "innocent nature". lols

It's original theme (as you can see in the title) was based off of the song from 'Rent', called "One Song, Glory". It always reminds me of Demyx when I hear it, so that's where the innital thought was born. Eventually, however, the theme-song of sorts for this became "Angels on the Moon" by Thriving Ivory. I have no idea how that happened...

**One Song Glory**

Demyx needed a new muse, he decided one beautiful Thursday afternoon as he sat in the empty high school auditorium after classes, sneezing in dust from the minimally-kept carpeting that had, over gods-knew how long become an odd faded grey ghost of it's former royal blue glory. He was placed behind a plastic folding table next his only cousin, Namine as they waited for other students to show up. Auditions for the fall production was minutes away, and while Demyx cared little for the theatrical flavor of performing arts, he had agreed to accompany the small blond girl to auditions, as it was her very first time directing a play.

Demyx, contrary to anything he might tell you, was an ideal person to ask for assistance in casting for the production. This was because he had an uncanny flair for theatrics that certainly had _nothing at all_ to do with his sexual preferences, thank-you-very-much. In all reality, the tall, blond-haired youth was an excellent judge of talent, and was much too honest to give a part to someone that didn't deserve it. He played the guitar too.

Demyx was your average teenaged boy. Well, your average, musical, friendly, oddly cunning, blond foax-hawk haired, sea green eyed, _homosexual_ teenaged boy. Whatever _that_ meant. The boy enjoyed his unusual style, including (but certainly not limited to): skinny jeans, fitted, long sleeved tees in a variety of colors, with catchy phrases (today's, a bright red cotton one, read, 'Medicated: For **Your** Protection.') printed across the chest and a choker collar that he only wore when he felt like a rocker, that matched (of course) with his many ear piercings. (some of which were attached to others by means of lightweight chains)

The smaller blond, this one female sighed at the silence, rubbing her eyes nervously with the tips of her black-and-green painted fingernails. For Halloween, of course. It was coming ever closer, after all, even though it was still over a month away. She nibbled her pink-painted lower lip for a few moments before sighing again, only to jump comically at the noise of one of the heavy side doors being shoved open.

The actors were here.

_~Day One~_

Actors waltzed across the wooden stage one or two at a time, in a dance of reading lines from the printed copies of the script, and displaying varying forms of decency and skill. Namine and Demyx, taking notes on their own and whispering to one another between auditions, might have been a frightening sight in the back of the large room to a young student, but there were several familiar faces among the hopeful actors that knew exactly what they were doing up there.

The sheep and wolves were separating themselves without much prodding, so to speak. A few students graced the stage in a way that led Demyx to think the same old actors would surely be getting the main parts for this production: Marluxia, Kairi, Sora, and a few others the older blond didn't know by name, but only by the faces they had portrayed over the years. That was all, of course, until _he_ came in.

This boy, the previously spoken of, 'he', was a small lad, with oddly hued hair (not really silver, but certainly not azure either… Was it periwinkle? Oh, no. Defiantly not that…) that fell over one of his dull charcoal-blue eyes and pale skin with an almost unnoticeable dusting of freckles across his upper cheeks and nose. He had been one of the first through the door, although he didn't actually audition until much later. He shyly passed his papers to Namine when he came in, only making eye contact for a split-second before looking to the floor nervously.

He didn't stand a chance.

If Demyx hadn't been an inherently kind individual, he might have said so to the shorter male, but as it was, he only smiled and looked over the page with little interest. Namine gave him an apologizing look, as if to say, 'Sorry for putting you through all this, I should have known it wouldn't make a difference of who led.' Demyx shrugged and turned his attention back to the stage, where the shy boy was awaiting the go-ahead.

Namine nodded to him, and bade him to begin.

The oddly haired boy took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a short second, before looking up. The previously dull eyes snapped into character, becoming so shockingly emotional in an instant, Demyx noticed the change even from the back of the auditorium, and barely suppressed a gasp. Furthermore, the boy had no paper in his hand, but had instead memorized a monologue from the play, enunciating each word perfectly, projecting a painfully beautiful voice throughout the room. (The character was going through extreme turmoil.) Even Namine, who had read the play so many times she didn't care all that much for the characters anymore, was nearly brought to tears, just by his acting.

To put it shortly: This kid was incredible.

Demyx had never seen him before in his life.

"Holy crap," Namine whispered to her cousin moments later, hand with a pen poised, sitting stilly on the tabletop, eyes still wide with surprise. "Did you _see_ that?"

Demyx let out a dry breath that was probably intended to be a laugh, although he himself didn't even rightly know. "Yeah… G-give him that part." The girl nodded mutely.

Auditions continued. No one Demyx saw was able to impress him after that boy's performance. He found himself completely ignoring a couple of them, instead looking over the shy boy's paper with more interest than before, learning his name (Zexion Jones), that he was a new student to the school, and that he was a senior like Demyx (You're kidding! That tiny kid's as old as me?).

When that mostly-miserable-yet-compaired-to-what-he-had-expected-actually-basically-painless two hours had ended, the blond musician found himself jumping to his feet and hurrying to catch up to this 'Jones' boy before he left, calling out his name. The boy stopped abruptly upon hearing Demyx's call, turned around to face the odd musician, tugging slightly on the strap of his rather abused appearing backpack (yellow essentially, although it had been drawn all over in what appeared to be Sharpie ink, in purple, black, red, and a dark forest green) and giving him a questioning glance, the blandness having long ago returned to his eyes.

Demyx, his own backpack jingling with hundreds of safety pins (although the base colors were green and blue), grinned and put out a hand for shaking. "I'm Demyx, the director's cousin."

The boy, who was painfully slight in build, but really only four inches or so shorter than Demyx, (Odd, he had surly thought the new student to be smaller than that…) took the hand after a brief hesitation, smiling a little. "Zexion," He murmured to the ground.

Demyx dropped his hand when the bony one pulled away from it, scuffing the sole of his black high-top Converse against the pavement below them, examining the stranger's features.

He was dressed in basically normal teenager clothes, really. Loose, but not really baggy, dark blue jeans hugged his narrow hips, a rip that was obviously not purchased that way showed off one pale knee. An average, sort of beaten up stud belt had been laced through the loops, holding the garment in place. Yellow Converses peaked out from behind the too-long pant legs, and was that?- Why, yes. Yes, those _were _rainbow-striped laces. A plain white t-shirt could be seen from underneath the teen's way oversized black zip-up hoodie, sleeves having been pushed up the skinny arms, bunching near his elbows. He was wearing no jewelry that Demyx could see, save for a silver ring in the cartilage of his left ear. While Demyx was thinking about it: He was sort of cute.

But this was hardly the time for _that_.

"You're really good," the blond said, as a way to break the nervous silence that had taken them over.

Zexion jumped. Then he glanced up at Demyx, head still facing the ground for the most part, grey/blue eyes barely visible to the taller teen through thick, black eyelashes. "Thank you."

Demyx grinned. "Any time! But I mean it, really!" The short teen's head came up fully at this, slowly, as if he was afraid to show anything that might be read into by the other as a shot at dominance. "You really took our breath away. How do you _do_ that?"

A pinkness crept to the oddly haired boy's face, but he smiled a smile that could have been perceived as sly. "Do what?" he asked, in an innocent tone.

"Get into character like that," Demyx supplied excitedly, the memory shining in his green eyes. "You _eyes_ changed visibly from where I was sitting. It was incredible!"

The shy boy's face was nearly as red as Demyx's shirt by this time, but he smirked. "Oh, I don't know," He replied thoughtfully, "I guess it just comes naturally to me."

'Yeah,' Demyx thought distantly, 'he's cute.'

_~Day Two~_

"Okay, guys," Namine called from the stage, to the collection of people seated in the first two rows of the dusty auditorium. "I know a lot of you know the way things work around here, but for those of you that don't," Her eyes swept across the freshmen and sophomores, then settling back on Marluxia, who could _always_ use a reminder. "This is acting. Not 'playing pretend.' This is not a democracy, not Hollywood, and as soon as you walk into this building, you are no longer in a free country. This is a Nami-ocracy. I am law. Disagree, and you can leave right now. Save us all the trouble. Should you be disrespectful, or a pain in my ass in any way, I will not so much as blink an eye to replace you. This is not 'the big screen'. You aren't worth any money. You are totally replaceable, any step of the way. Act like you deserve to be a 'movie star' and I will smack you upside the head. Repeatedly. Furthermore, it's not my job to be your free therapist, so please leave any and all drama of that variety at the door. Get a councilor, if you _must_."

She smiled then, her long, blond hair pulled away from her face in a high ponytail, light blue eyes shining with excitement. She looked neat and presentable today, in a denim skirt that fell just above her knees and a green polo shirt with a blue stripe running horizontally across the middle, still clinging to her white sandals before the cold set in too much to wear them anymore. "Any questions?" she asked brightly, clasping her delicately tanned hands together on the question, pointedly ignoring the catcalls from whom-ever-that-was about what her political party was.

No one had any _serious_ questions, so the first (and in Demyx's personal opinion, most fun) play practice promptly began.

Improvisation was really fun, the blond musician found (and he was surprisingly good at it). The group spent most of the afternoon playing games, handing out scripts and had just enough time to go over the first act of the play, lines-in-hand, and sitting in a circle of sorts in the auditorium. Demyx noticed that Zexion shined brightest when he was acting out the parts of unintelligent characters. That wasn't to say he wasn't good at the serious parts, though: Of course not! He simply seemed to enjoy the jokers a bit better.

Demyx wondered why for a moment, but soon forgot he had even noticed the fact when it was his turn to play 'the dating game'.

_~Day Five~_

"It was then that I first saw him, Sir, on that night." Kairi called from the stage, dramatically curtsying for Sora, who insisted he should be allowed to wear a huge orange top-hat in practice to properly grasp the detective's role. By now, Namine had stopped trying to reason with him.

"On the twenty-third?" Sora inquired of the other, eyeing her skirt, which was rather short.

"Yes sir!" the red haired girl exclaimed.

"Kairi, you've _got_ to get this character right." Namine interrupted from the fifth row of seats, ignoring the blond boy sprawled out beside her, black Converse-covered feet propped up on the seat in front of him, slouched down in his own, tapping his pen against his calculus homework book. "The waitress is nervous in this scene. She's afraid of what the detective will say when he finds out how much she knows." A frustrated sigh rang out beside the director. "She's not at all pleased to give off this information, which is why the detective has to keep _asking_ her for it."

Demyx moaned in defeat, sitting up properly for the first time in half an hour, arching his achy spine, ignoring the popping noises it made at the movement and called out to the occupants of the room, "Does anyone here know calculus?"

"Nope!" Replied Sora cheerfully from the stage, happily disregarding the director's annoyance. The freshmen said nothing as a whole; a few of the sophomores shook their heads or mumbled an answer. Only Marluxia was of any use.

"Zexion helped me with mine."

Demyx looked to the boy expectantly, only to see that he was glaring at Marluxia angrily and sitting alone close to the door. "Will you help me with my homework?" The blond called across the auditorium to him, wincing, but otherwise ignoring the thump to the head that was promptly delivered via Namine's fist.

"After practice," Zexion replied emotionlessly.

_~Day Twelve~_

It had become a common practice for Demyx to go to the play meetings after school, watch the progress as it happened, paint up some sets, (he even learned how to use a sewing machine one day) then go to a picnic table with Zexion when all that was over to be tutored in calculus.

In this pattern, the two began to get to know each other better, as people have a tendency to do when they spend hours together on a daily basis. Demyx told Zexion of his aspirations to be a mainstream musical artist, of his desire to write an amazing song, one that would last forever, to be remembered by. He told his tutor of his muse-related issues, and band mates, of Axel and Larxene and Xigbar, and of the great (but undeniably insane) adventures they always seemed to have when they were together. He told him about swim team in the spring, about his friends there: Riku, and Yuffie, and about how his life was growing up in little Washington, about his Uncle Luxord, who insisted on being treated like a buddy in the place of an authority figure.

In turn, Zexion opened up, told Demyx of his aspirations to be a Broadway actor, his plans to go to school to study psychology, and his father's mandatory 'Family Bonding Trips' that normally involved places with too many mosquitoes and no indoor plumbing.

It was this day, a Monday that Demyx was, for the first time, envious of his new friend. Zexion's family sounded so _nice_. His mother baked the best homemade brownies in the world so he had said, they were in fact so good that Zexion couldn't call the store-bought 'cosmic brownies' Demyx liked to eat, brownies. Zexion's father paid attention to him, had actually been there to raise him, and seemed to even _like_ him.

Demyx found himself stumbling over words when the shorter teen had asked, "What about your family?" in a conversational sort of way. What could the blond say? Surely not the truth! How would it sound to Zexion, had Demyx said, 'Oh, I was an accident see, I'm the result of what happens when you drink in high school. My dad's a deserter and my mum's an alcoholic, so I was sent to live with my Uncle Luxord when I was seven or so because she tried to commit suicide, and the last I heard from her was about a year and a half ago when she was sent to the psyche ward again because she wants to die.' Yeah, _that's_ a cheerful story. Sarcasm, _dripping with_. No, Demyx couldn't possibly tell the truth. He didn't want Zexion to compare _that _to his own fantastic reality. The last thing Demyx wanted was for people to feel sorry for him.

Instead of uttering any of that, he simply smiled and replied with, "Oh, I actually live alone in this cute little apartment above the used book store on West Main Street. You know the one?"

Zexion nodded and smiled, obviously knowing what that answer must really mean. The conversation veered quickly away from that difficult course, to Demyx's relief, and onto that of books.

_~Day Twenty-Nine~_

Zexion was a drug.

And Demyx wasn't the only one that had found himself hopelessly addicted.

As soon as the vertically challenged senior made himself comfortable in the school auditorium among the theater club, he became a life source of his own, like a star, burning up the proverbial gases of energy and creativity, producing a light like that of none other.

Privately, Demyx called him his north star. Because he was just _shiny_ like that. Yes, it's odd. Yes, it's cliché. Yes, Demyx beat himself up over it on a daily basis.

Honestly, though! Zexion was addicting, and Demyx had no hope for rehab.

On this particular day, the auditorium was filled with the scents of wet paint and sounds of laughter as the club finished the sets (or tried to, anyway).

No one was very attentive on this particular afternoon, and not even Namine cared enough to beat the actors into reading lines. Instead, most everyone was just fooling around with the half-painted sets. Marluxia had gotten out some bathrobes from the costume closet, and he, two sophomore girls whose names Demyx could still not remember, and Kairi has dressed in them and proceeded to fight with empty cardboard paper towel roles, like gladiators. Sora and Zexion were seated near backstage, painting crown molding for the set of one scene, and from the looks of things (being the ruined t-shirts and smudges of paint on arms and faces) they had gotten into a bit of a paint fight not too long ago. Demyx sat in the second row of seats, guitar in his lap, playing out a funky melody of his own creation. Namine stretched out across the floor, stage left, tapping her purple-inked pen to a rhythm that complimented her cousin's playing, trying and failing to complete her history homework.

"Play us a song, Demy!" a sophomore named Yuna pleaded from somewhere near the back of the auditorium.

"What sort?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Make something up!" Sora called brightly. "We can take turns giving it lyrics!"

Namine closed her school book and sat up, straight-leg-jeans clad legs swinging over the side of the stage. She looked at her cousin expectantly. "Yeah, do that."

"Uhh," Demyx thought for a moment, toying with the thick chain hanging around his neck for a moment. Then he grinned. "Yes," he hissed, fingers going to strings of their own accord. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen to the words the blond musician sang with a rather evil glint to his eyes. "Oh, I once knew a gal, her name was Namine. She beat people up, and gave her family concussions every day!" Laughter ensued. "She liked to play rough, but sucked up in school, so when she got caught, her 'innocence' was rule." He glanced up briefly, scanning the group, still playing, "Marley!"

The pink haired senior jumped up to center stage, dancing like a pop-star (still wearing the bath robe over his clothes) as he continued the song. "I once knew a lad, and his name was Brad. Well, really not Brad, but he _should_ have been Brad, for he was the fruity-est fruitcake in the land!" He looked pointedly at Demyx, who ignored him. "Sora!"

The brunette paused, and then sang, "What is it you seek? When you pray on the meek? All I wanted was cookies, but now I've got crumbs!" Demyx kept playing. "Namine!"

"Oh, I am the type who, when asked to and called to, I'll draw you a kangaroo and kick you to Timbuktu. Kairi!"

"I once knew a girl, who liked to watch 'Earl' and found herself stuck in a trance. Her name was Alberta, her cookies they burnt-a, and Sora mourned them for a year!" The redheaded girl pointed her finger dramatically at… "Zexy!"

The spoken to teen, grey/blue eyes looking dull in that way they always did when he was not acting, smudge of light green paint across his left cheek making him look like a younger boy than he was, took a deep breath and called out, "I once met a fellow, he didn't like yellow, and so he spat grapefruit juice on my shoes." He gestured to his, by this time, trademark yellow high-tops Converses. "So I wrote him a tale, where he swallowed a whale, and a redhead beat him with her boot!" Kairi blushed, patting her pink heeled boots with a carefully manicured hand. "Demyx!"

The blond grinned and said, "Oh, we all are nuts-o! And crazy with a gusto, but at least we are insane together! I know not why I'm here, if not out of fear, for the director who'll be the death of us all!" And with that, he ended the song. Everyone who was not involved clapped and cheered, and Marulxia, who was still standing on center stage, took a dramatic bow.

"Alright, guys, let's get back to work now," Namine said, effectively swinging the heightened good mood to her advantage. The sets, after all, needed to be finished today.

_~Day Thirty~_

"It was… My only opportunity," Zexion muttered, eyes filled with tears of anger, self hate, and fear of the future. "For a happy ending. And not only did I lose it, But I threw it away!

"And for what? Fame? Money?" He let out a shaky sigh, "Oh, Roberta. I failed you so. Is it not true in every painful way that we never understand what we have until it has long ago left us forever?" A lightly contained sob escaped him, and he fell to his knees, brushing ashen fingers across the cold 'stone' of the grave marker. He traced the letters, forming them with his trembling lips, "Here… Lies… Roberta… Hummings… Born… September the twenty-first… 1957… D-died-" a sob broke through his speech and he clutched at his face, the tears that fell from them all to realistic for Demyx's liking.

The scene was over.

"Gods, Zex," Namine murmured as Zexion leaned away from the prop, crossed his legs, Indian-style on the stage, looking perfectly normal (if not for the dullness returning to his beautiful eyes) wiping the created tears from his pale cheeks. "I don't even know what to say… You're- That was-"

"Almost _too_ realistic." Marluxia finished for her, combing rose hued locks of hair away from his masculine face. "It's creepy. Keep it up." He smiled.

Zexion smiled a bit too, shyly. He knew that coming from that particular actor, 'creepy' was intended as a compliment. "Thanks,"

Demyx didn't know why, but he was beginning to not like watching Zexion act at all. He supposed it wasn't the acting that bothered him, (he would surely be insane if he didn't appreciate the genius of it) but the dull, emptiness to those charcoal-blue eyes whenever he _wasn't_ on stage. It was beginning to scare the musician, how the other senior seemed so much more alive when he was pretending than when he was _supposed_ to be real. There was no way that was normal behavior for _anyone_.

'_All the world is not a stage,_

_Because there are no lines for us to play._

_But you seem to live by the script,_

_Like a puppet in a show._

_Is it wrong? _

_For me to think of who you might be,_

_When the lights go out,_

_And the theater is empty?_

_Because I know I'm missing something._

_I'm missing something_

_I don't know you_

_But I'd like to._

_You know I'd like to._

_But would you?'_

It was the beginning of something, Demyx knew. This poetry was the start of what would probably become a song, which was odd, when the blond musician thought about it. When was the last time he had written a song? Certainly it had been long ago.

Demyx chuckled to his spiral notebook, clutched to his warm, tanned fingers as he sat in the last row of the auditorium that had so instantly become his favorite place.

Demyx liked Zexion.

Well, that was obvious, and a bit redundant, really. _Everyone_ liked Zexion, with the possible exception of Xemnas, but that was just because he was arrogant like that.

However, that wasn't what Demyx meant when he said, 'like'. No, he meant it in a totally different way.

Every time the new student (from Florida, so he had said once in explanation for the almost constant presence of his black hoodie, even before the weather had broken totally) set those frightening eyes on Demyx, chills raced up his spine, partnering with heat to the back of his neck, and dryness to his throat. Zexion was more than cute – He was beautiful. He was an anomaly, something unexplainable. He was… He was…. _Zexion._ Which would also sound redundant to anyone that didn't understand what Demyx meant when he said, 'Zexion'.

Zexion could be placed in no category, no creed, no stereotype. He was entirely an element of his own, irreplaceable, impossible to explain, with no definition. You just had to _know_ him. He was (in a complex way) like the word 'is'. There is no definition for 'is'. You have to just _know_ what it means. Demyx didn't know what 'Zexion' really meant, and somehow, that frightened him further.

How does one come to understand something that cannot be explained?

_~Day Thirty-Two~_

Demyx could cook… But not very well. This was brought to light on a Sunday afternoon when the spoken of blond invited Zexion over to his apartment for supper, only to have burned whatever-it-was-he-had-been-cooking to such a degree that no one could tell what it even _was_ anymore.

"Eh, sorry?" Demyx chuckled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, eyes trained nervously on that of Zexion, who (however oddly dull and lifeless his eyes seemed) appeared to be amused.

"I don't mind," He replied evenly with an almost-there smile.

Demyx rubbed the back of his head, chuckling again. "Yeah…" then a thought hit him like a ton of bricks. 'Shit. He'll think I'm an idiot now.' He frowned, disheartened. "Now what are we going to do about dinner?"

Zexion sighed, but smiled slightly again. "May I cook?"

Demyx brightened in a way he was sure made him seem like a simpleton. "You cook?"

Yes, Zexion cooked. _Well_. He came across to Demyx as the sort of person who would only ever bother with something like that when there was someone else to feed, though. It was sweet, and the shorter teen, with that indefinable colored hair pulled away from his face in a black clip to reveal both of those frighteningly emotionless charcoal/blue eyes, bustled about the tiny galley-styled kitchen, his black hoodie discarded on the chair in the living room, revealing a dark blue tee and very thin, very pale forearms.

He made spaghetti. Demyx wanted to scream; it tasted so good. Zexion sat quietly while they ate, spinning the messy food around his fork politely before eating, where Demyx thoroughly embarrassed himself by devouring the meal messily. When they had finished, Demyx insisted on Zexion _not_ doing the dishes. He, instead, did them himself. Zexion, saying he hated watching other people do the work, was insufferable until Demyx agreed to let him dry them and put them back in the only cabinet in the kitchen that hadn't yet fallen apart.

Once that was finished, the pair retired to the living room, where they sat in an uncomfortable silence that Zexion ended up breaking. "So why did you ask me over, anyway?"

"What?" Demyx had been broken from his prompt daydreaming of Zexion, spaghetti, and kittens by the sound of his friend's voice. He blushed when he realized how stupid he sounded. Zexion didn't seem to notice.

"You and I don't normally hang out off school grounds. I was just curious as to why you invited me over." He clarified.

'Yes, stupid. Stupid, stupid Demyx…' "Oh, yeah…" He had to think about this, so as not to make this horrible impression even worse. "You've really helped me out with bringing up my calc. grade and all… So I just thought… I'd like to do something to thank you."

"Well, it's appreciated." The shorter teen said, his hair having quite some time ago fallen safely back in front of his right eye, covering the orbs Demyx thought he would always fear _just _a little.

"No, it was terrible!" Demyx exclaimed before he could catch himself. Zexion gave him a reading look. He felt heat rushing to his face. "Uh, what I mean is… That you ended up having to work, because I suck at cooking…" He glanced away in shame. He had never in his life felt so much like an idiot.

Zexion sighed. "How do you get by all by yourself this way?"

Demyx's head popped up, wanting to glare, but he knew better than to screw this up even more than he had already. It was an innocent question, he reminded himself. "Well, I eat supper with Nami and her family three times a week, and I eat lunch at school, mostly. Breakfast is easy, 'cause it's pretty hard to screw up cereal and coffee… so… yeah."

Zexion nodded, that odd almost-there smile back in place. "What about the other six meals per week?"

"Eh?"

"Four nights of dinner without your uncle's cooking, two days of lunch without the school cafeteria."

Demyx wanted to sink into the sofa and disappear. "I don'no…" He murmured, eye-contact breaking again by means of the blond staring at his lap.

A chuckle brought his attention back to the person in the armchair, hoodie back in place, zipped up, concealing an almost comical amount of Zexion's thin body from view. "I don't work on Wednesday nights usually. If you want, I can come over and teach you to cook something other than cereal and pop-tarts."

He didn't mean it in a mean way, and it didn't even come out sounding mean, but Demyx was still too embarrassed to avoid taking at least a little offence. He ignored it to the best of his ability; changing the subject with the tid-bit of information he had just been given. "You work?"

Zexion nodded. "I work nights at the Blockbuster in the square. You know, by Wal-Mart?"

That was… An interesting little tid-bit, indeed. "Wow, I didn't know that!" Demyx exclaimed with a grin. "I work right near there, at the cinema. We should hang out some time."

A dark eyebrow rose towards a matching hairline. "During work?"

The blond rolled his green eyes. "No silly, afterwards! Wouldn't that be fun?"

_~Day Forty-Nine~_

He was so cute.

Zexion was curled up; fast asleep in the second-hand armchair he normally sat in when he found himself in Demyx's home, hands tucked into black hoodie sleeves completely, face buried in his wrists. He looked so small and sweet that way, Demyx couldn't help but think, stealing a glance at the egg timer Uncle Luxord had given him the day before when he mentioned that his friend would be coming over to teach him how to make a pot pie. It still had ten minuets left to go. Demyx would let Zexion sleep as long as he could.

He looked like he needed it. He was so tiny, so pale, and so_ thin_, Demyx feared he would just break one day. But Zexion seemed to have reasonably healthy habits. It didn't make any sense. He ate normally whenever Demyx saw him eat, talked as thought he slept normally, he had slipped on a stray newspaper and fallen off the stage the other day, and the resulting bruise on his elbow was healing like bruises should, having recently turned a sickly yellow hue. Demyx knew that was normal; he had fallen enough in his eighteen years to know.

So why was Zexion so tiny?

Demyx didn't even realize he had spaced out until the timer went off, beeping shrilly, and surprising the short teen into consciousness. He gasped, jumping up, only to lose balance and topple to the shoddy carpeted floor with an audible _thud_. Demyx silenced the devise as quickly as he could, racing frantically into the kitchen, unbearably afraid of burning. Zexion blinked the cloudy sleep from his eyes, running a hand through his mussed hair, licking his dry lips distantly. Then he picked himself off the floor and followed the bouncy Demyx to the kitchen where he pulled the bubbling pie from the oven, hands protected by potholders, setting it on the stovetop carefully.

He turned his head to the side in the way Demyx always loved, analyzing their combined effort. Apparently seeing it as acceptable, he slid his hands out of the mitts, placing them on the counter, and flipped off the oven. "We should let it rest for a minuet or two," He muttered, almost to himself. Demyx grinned.

"Had a nice nap?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Zexion replied sheepishly. "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"No problem," Demyx replied easily, and for once, he didn't blush. "You looked like you needed it."

The bluenette sighed, frowning sourly. "Maybe I'm coming down with something… I'm not normally like this."

A pat on the back followed the statement. It was one of many things Demyx insisted he intended to be perceived as a friendly gesture, but his heart always seemed to beat just a little faster after the contact. "Don't let Namine hear you say that. She'll flip out and shove Zicam down your throat." He grinned and Zexion chuckled.

"Yeah, you're right."

_~Day Fifty-Four~_

Costumes were stored in two closets (one up a rickety ladder above the other) far behind the stage. It was not on any ordinary Monday when Demyx and Zexion were asked (read: forced) to spend the afternoon organizing the lower one instead of participating in play practice. Demyx wasn't in the production, so he had no choice on the matter at all. ("Stop being a lazy slug and go do something productive!" Namine had ordered of him.) Zexion, in his own case, was the only person in the club that Namine saw as capable of missing the vital practice without taking hits to his acting skill. Therefore, they were the obvious and _only_ choices for the tedious and boring job that desperately needed to be done.

This Monday, was, in fact the second-to-last practice before opening night, so of course, the world was a hectic place for anyone involved that day. Namine was not being totally kind, but everyone was present, and most seemed to be basically ready so it wasn't all bad, considering.

Practice ended before the boys had finished, but Namine, claiming that she had something of great importance to do (Demyx failed to catch the significant wink she shot in his direction) flew the coop on them without helping at all. Demyx was less than pleased.

It had to be nearly quarter to seven by the time the boys were finally putting the last of the organized garments away, sighing in relief, tired from effort, both with work to go to in less than an hour.

Zexion leaned against the black-painted brick wall next to the ladder, arms crossed, eyes closed mutely, and standing so still Demyx couldn't help but wonder if he was even breathing. He opened his dull eyes at the click of the closet door's lock being set in place, grey/blue orbs training easily on the blond that seemed a bit afraid to look at him. Demyx slid the key in the envelope that was kept rubber-banded to the ladder, and turned to him with a slightly nervous smile.

"So, uh, we probably ought to go."

The shorter teen nodded, pushing off of the wall, coming too close to Demyx, who backed up instantly, assuming it was unintentional.

"May I ask you something Dem?"

The blond tried to suppress a shiver at the sound of the nickname rolling off those pretty, pale lips. "Sure," He managed not to stutter, 'Thank the gods!'

Zexion smirked, tilting his head to the side slightly, evaluating the other's rising discomfort at being alone with his crush. It was painfully obvious, but Demyx couldn't think of anything to _do_ about that. "Tell me. Are you ever going to kiss me, or are you really as much of an insufferable uke as Marluxia claims?"

'Wh-what?! Did he just say-?' Demyx's mouth fell open of its own accord. "Eh?" was all he managed to get out before Zexion's chuckle.

"It's alright. I don't mind." The other replied brightly, stepping closer, a cool hand cupping the taller teen's flushed cheek, leaning up to brush their lips together.

Demyx gasped. Fireworks! Where were they? There should have been some, surely, because the blond felt more than a little light headed when the contact was gone – and far too quickly too!

"B-but-?" There had to be a catch, right? These things never _actually_ happened. That was just for the movies and those trashy romance novels Kairi read. "You- So you're-?"

Zexion smiled and shook his head, rolling those odd eyes, which expressed – just for a moment, mind you – a sort of_ life_. It was nothing at all like the sparkly, star-like shine they shone with when he was acting; no. It was softer, less defined, and much less magical. But it was _there_, and that's what made Demyx want to kiss him _again and again_, just to see it there. "Honestly, Demyx, I'm in _theater_. What ever gave you the impression I was _straight_?"

_~Day Fifty-Six~_

"Break a leg everyone!" Namine called to the band of fully-costumed actors, make up applied where needed, cough drops given to those who had caught the sore throat going around, soft smiles for those who suffered from stage fright. She was dressed professionally in a flowing light blue skit and a neatly pressed white button-up blouse, sharp, black heels that clicked whenever she walked. Her hair had been combed carefully, resting over one shoulder. A light dusting of blush and lip gloss accentuated her girlishness, and Demyx could only think that she looked lovely.

She smiled confidently. "You guys are ready. You're going to rock out loud, and you're going to make me and yourselves proud. Now get to your places. It sounds like they're almost done seating." She nodded to her group proudly. Then, "Demyx, get to your seat!"

The spoken to blond chuckled and winked to his 'crush', although now it was probably safe to say that feelings were returned. "See you at the after party!" The cousins walked off together, to their reserved seats among the almost full auditorium.

It was almost perfect. Actually, it would have been totally perfect, to the very first dream from Namine's pretty, inspirational mind.

Had it not been for Zexion's final monologue.

"And for what? Fame…? Money?," He muttered, the tears already leaking from his eyes slightly the look in his eyes seeming off to Demyx, somehow. The blond gnawed on his lip fretfully. Zexion didn't look well – at all. He had seemed fine the day before, and even when the blond had been with him backstage earlier… But now… Something was wrong.

"Oh, Roberta," He seemed almost like he was gasping for air. Was this in the script? "I failed you so…. Is it," He stumbled slightly. "Is it not true that in every… painful… wa-"

Someone backstage – it was probably Kairi, screamed as the actor gasped and hit the wooden floor of the stage with a sickly kind of _thud_. The audience as a whole gasped, a few of them, including Demyx and Namine jumped to their feet. No one was sure what had just happened, but someone had the mind to call an ambulance.

Demyx stood stock-still, staring through tear-clouded eyes as the paramedics rushed in, put Zexion, _his Zexion_, looking absolutely grey, his breathing erratic and pained, unconscious, onto a stretcher, rushing him away, already hooking him to machines that Demyx couldn't tell the purpose of. He stared, even as the moments ticked by, people all around him in an uproar, Marluxia and Sora holding the sobbing Kairi, Namine speaking to a doctor over the phone.

Finally, after what could have been decades or seconds, (Demyx couldn't grasp time anymore) Namine, silent tears ruining her mascara, climbed to center stage, calling for the attention of the people. She got it. Silence fell.

She sniffed, and Demyx couldn't help but think that she still looked professional and lovely, even with her hair already knotted from clutching her head while on the phone, eyes stained pink, still leaking salty tears that caused black makeup to smear underneath her light blue eyes. She still looked collected, even though Demyx (who had known her for most of their lives) knew better than most that she wanted to be just like Kairi, unable to stand from fear and shock. She couldn't do that, however. She was the director.

"Our actor, portraying the role of 'Cornelius', by the name of Zexion Jones, has just been taken to the hospital because his heart failed unexpectedly. The Washington High School Playmakers offer you our sincerest apologies for the disruption, and ask that you calmly file out of the auditorium at this time." No one moved. "If you want a refund for your tickets, please send a letter to the PO box addressed to Mr. Carter discussing the issue. It will be attended to as soon as possible. I am keeping in contact with a doctor for updates on Zexion's condition, so if his family is in the house, please come see me before leaving." She sniffed. "Thank you."

People murmured a hum of worry and apprehension, but Namine paid no mind as they did as they were told. She, instead, sunk to a sitting position on the stage, clutching the pink phone with white knuckles. Tears flowed freely.

Demyx, still standing as if frozen in front of his chair, mouth gaping open, barely breathing, himself, was yanked unceremoniously from his daze by a small blond he had never seen before.

"Hey! _Hey!_" The blond exclaimed, shaking Demyx by the shoulders roughly until he blinked out tears and focused. The blond looked to be a student, probably a sophomore at the oldest, with bright, navy blue eyes and very spiky blond hair. "Are you Demyx?"

Demyx's mouth opened and closed uselessly for a second before the small blond shook him again. "Answer me! Are you him?"

Demyx nodded. "Y-yeah…"

Navy eyes softened a little. "I'm Zexy's cousin. My name is Roxas." The boy pulled Demyx to the stage by his hand, where the actors were congregating around Namine, who still clutched onto the cell phone as if it was her very heart. "I'm Zexion's cousin." Roxas repeated for the benefit of the others. "I can explain." He still held firmly onto Demyx's hand. "He's got a stress-related heart disorder. He's had heart attacks before." He had everyone's fearful attention. He turned his eyes to Namine. "Director, I'm taking your cousin. We'll be in touch." She nodded.

Demyx, finally grasping reality, didn't need to be lead to his car, although the small blond didn't release his hand until they got to it, none the less. Demyx manually unlocked the doors to the dilapidated red four-door something-or-other and both boys got in. By then, the traffic from the play-goers was gone so they were on the road quickly.

"Zexy talks about you." Roxas said softly, breaking the suffocating silence.

"We need to call his parents," was the taller blonde's sensible reply. "They'll be really worried about him."

Roxas seemed perplexed. "What?" A moment passed before the truth of the situation dawned on the younger teen. "Zexion doesn't have any parents."

If Demyx hadn't been stopped at a red light at the moment, he probably would have gotten into an accident. "What?!"

"What I said," Roxas replied carefully, "He lives with me and my family. His is gone."

"…Gone?" Demyx wasn't even sure he wanted to know anymore.

"They died about six months ago. That's why he moved here. What did he tell you?"

But- If that was true, then why did Zexion talk about them all the time… In present tense… Like they were real? Zexion, _Demyx's Zexion_ had _lied_. Was he really surprised? Zexion was – after all, an actor. He should have expected it. That knowledge, however it was intended, didn't make him feel any less hurt. There was only one question he knew to ask in that moment, as the light changed back to green. "How?"

Out of the corner of his eye, the musician saw Roxas shake his head. "It's not my place to say. I'm sorry." Silence ensued, in which Demyx couldn't decide if he was angry, or fearful, or disappointed, or broken on the inside. It was probably a burning mix of all of the above.

Roxas' mother, a stout, caring blond woman arrived at the hospital just after the teens did, and Demyx thought he would have rater liked her if he hadn't met her in these circumstances. Together, the three blonds sat in the waiting room, with everything hanging on a thread that could very well have broken at any moment. Mrs. Jones cried the whole time.

Zexion's condition stabilized some time late that night. Demyx had not been allowed to see him because he was not a blood relative. But he was alive, and that was enough.

_~Day Sixty-Nine~_

Zexion and Demyx sat in the messy living room of the blonde's apartment directly in the middle of a stressed silence, Demyx sitting on the sofa, Zexion placed himself on the armchair, stiffly, most of his body hidden in his black hoodie.

"How did you get here?" Demyx asked coldly, green eyes studying the uncomfortable other evenly.

"My aunt brought me," was the soft answer. He never looked up into the other's eyes. It was funny, almost, how the positions of fear had changed so suddenly.

"Why?"

It took a long time for Zexion to answer, but when he did, he looked up defiantly, those dull (yet somehow _alive_ like they were for that first kiss, only more painfully) grey/blue eyes looking directly into Demyx's for the first time in over two weeks. "I wanted to apologize… and explain."

Zexion had been in the hospital for six days. What exactly caused the attack was still unknown to everyone who looked. He had returned to school the following Thursday, but since he and the blond musician didn't share any classes, and Demyx failed to seek him out, they hadn't seen one another. The fall production was over now. There was nothing else for them to do together after school. Demyx had never felt more lost.

"You lied to me." It wasn't a question, and Zexion winced at the pure ice in the statement.

"For that, I apologize. I want you to know that… Everything I said – It was true _once_, I swear to the gods."

"Yeah, _once_!" The other retorted. "But not anymore! Why, didn't you trust me enough to not pity you for it?"

"You're one to talk about trust," Zexion said flatly. "You don't even talk about yours at all."

"Because_ I_ _don't have one_." The hurt in his tone wasn't overlooked by the actor. "So I don't _pretend_ that I do."

"I'm not supposed to be alive." The statement was said so dryly, so matter-of-factly, that Demyx stopped. Completely. Every mean thing he had been thinking of vanished instantly on those six words.

"What?"

"It was a freak accident." The bluenette muttered, _real _self-hate pouring from his pale lips and into his lap, where he concentrated his glaring gaze. "Microwaves aren't _supposed_ to spontaneously combust. And if by some work of hell that they _do_, they _aren't_ supposed to cause a complete two-story, four bedroom home to burn to the ground so fast the firefighters can't save anything or any_one_."

That was the truth? "…Zex,"

He shook his head violently, white fists clenching around black sweatshirt fabric. "I wasn't home. I got pissed at my dad and ran off to a friend's place. I _should_ have been there. But I just _had_ to be a brat because I knew my dad was right about me." Demyx sat in horror while he watched the narrow shoulders shake, while what could only have been tears dripped to stain wet marks into the black fabric.

"I ran away. I _always run away_. And he said so, and I got mad and- and-" He swallowed a sob and Demyx could take no more.

In an instant, he was wrapping his arms around the smaller teen, nuzzling his hair, rocking him back and forth in comforting ways. The other embraced him desperately, unable to form words anymore after the breathed, "I didn't even get to say 'goodbye'."

"Please don't lie to me anymore, Zexy," Demyx whispered to the teen when he had finally calmed down, but was still clutching to the red cotton t-shirt (the same one he had worn the day they met, ironically) like his life depended on it. "Because I can't tell the difference and it scares me."

_~Day One Thousand, One Hundred Ninety Six~_

The blond man mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, pulling his bare body subconsciously to the skin of a slightly smaller creature, also barren of garments. The other, with eyes of a beautifully expressive (_alive_) shade of charcoal/blue, sighed slightly, shivered, then pulled the heavy quilt higher over himself and his other.

He watched his partner sleep as the bustle of the city, roaring outside their tiny, cheap apartment even in the dead of night played background music for the soundtrack of his life. He closed his eyes, thinking of the lights as the cars rushed by, headed into Manhattan, which they had not been able to afford, despite the music contract that might be finalized soon and the Broadway paycheck that currently sat on the counter in the minuscule kitchen. The lights were pretty sometimes, but they never _quite_ felt like the hot spotlights of the stage. No, they were cold, and Zexion preferred warmth, as he never had retained heat well, being from Florida and all.

That was okay, he thought distantly. His lover was always warm, and close by. (Except for on opening night, _any_ opening night. His blond still had nightmares before any of such occasions. It was endearing, really, albeit a bit morbid.) Even the frigid air of New York, in the middle of the wintertime, was perfect. As long as Demyx was there, Zexion was never too cold.

The man beside him stirred, frowning but not opening the clever green eyes. "Zexy," He mumbled, "Go to sleep, I know you're tired…"

The smaller man kissed the other's tan forehead. "How do you always know I'm awake?" He whispered into the night.

"You breathe different when you're sleeping," Said the other softly, pulling him closer. "Come on, I want you to go with me to the academy tomorrow." Demyx smiled as he felt Zexion, _his Zexion_, hum a little and curl up against him, taking in a deep, slow breath of their shared scent. Thin, pale arms wrapped around the blonde's waist and he cracked his eyes open to stare at _his __**muse**_.

He couldn't help but remember, distantly, the way those same eyes used to be so empty, so dead, only three-or-so years previously. Zexion hardly seemed like the same person as that high-schooler anymore. It was impossible for him to hide his emotion with Demyx now, and they were both fully aware of it, not that either minded. Demyx liked it this way, after all. There was a strict difference between Zexion's stage-life, and his _real life_. His eyes were different, and that was good. Because Demyx was still a little bit afraid of the artificial-yet-incredibly-realistic life the actor's eyes took on when he was on stage. And Zexion was still very afraid of lying to his lover. So in an odd way, it all evened out.

Zexion's profession was in illusions. In lies. Demyx's was in uncovering hidden truths. In music. Anyone who had ever known either male would have expected this to bring about the end of them both. And anyone who mentioned that would be promptly laughed at, and indulged in the story of a small, blond movie director of relation to Demyx, who had a tendency to smack people upside the head when they said something so ridiculous.

'_All the world is not a stage,_

_Because there are no lines for us to play._

_But you seem to live by the script,_

_Like a puppet in a show._

_Is it wrong? _

_For me to think of who you might be,_

_When the lights go out,_

_And the theater is empty?_

_Because I know I'm missing something._

_I'm missing something_

_I don't know you_

_But I'd like to._

_You know I'd like to._

_But would you?_

_You're missing something,_

_All the world is not a game,_

_Of make-believe,_

_And I do believe,_

_That there is something real in there._

_All I have to do is find it._

_Is it wrong?_

_For me to search through what's left of you,_

_When the lights go down,_

_And you cry in your sleep?_

_Because I know that you're still hiding something,_

_You're hiding something,_

_You're hiding from me._

_But I want to find you,_

_I want to love you,_

_Don't you?_

_We were missing something,_

_Did you realize?_

_All my world was not even there,_

_And your world was on a stage,_

_But I finally see,_

_That it's after the show,_

_Where you get lost and ill._

_Is it wrong?_

_For me to love you so,_

_When you sleep next to me,_

_In the dark and the cold?_

_Because you know I find something in you, _

_Something I've been missing,_

_And you find that something too._

_Does this mean we matter,_

_Does it mean we exist?_

_I exist in your arms,_

_In your arms,_

_We are real._

_In your arms, _

_I cry in my sleep,_

_In your arms,_

_I lay complete,_

_In your arms,_

_I hold you near,_

_In your arms,_

_Is my heart, held dear._

_And you know it.'_

_~Fin~_

That was a monster. I'm still not sure how I feel about it… This format was a lot more complicated than I expected. I've never had to do that much math for a fanfic before... Well, **QuarantineVirus**, did I hit the mark? Anywhere near it?

Jeeze, this is the longest oneshot I've ever written… Over 20 pages on Word. I think I'm sort of proud of it, though… I hardly cursed at all. 8D Yay!

Believe it or not (I know, I know, I'm not normally much of a poet) I wrote that song. ('s document transfer took away my pretty spacing though... -weeps-) I'm thinking I might give it to my Best'est Buddy, Georgia in case she wants to write music for it. (She rocks like that.)

Onward to PoS! (And I really _mean it_ this time, I promise.)

Love ya'! Later Days! XD


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